


Ocean of Gold

by LiberaMeDelailah



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Cute Ending, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier helps Geralt dress, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mutual Pining, Slow Dancing, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, They love each other, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiberaMeDelailah/pseuds/LiberaMeDelailah
Summary: She wasn’t made for flowers or jewelry; she wasn’t made to be a mother nor a wife. She was a mutant, no more, no less.And yet, Jaskier made her feel as if she could be more.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 158





	Ocean of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> My excuse is: Fem!Geralt would be buffy and big and she would be beautiful and Jaskier would try his damn hardest so that she sees it. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Geralyn felt strange. Jaskier always made her feel strange, but now it was very particular.

She wasn’t used to dresses or perfume, nor was she used to having her hair tied in anything other than a ponytail. And yet, here she was, Jaskier behind her, standing a head smaller than her, as he helped her into a corset that was squeezing the life out of her — because he had insisted that she had to dress up.

She wasn’t particularly pretty, so she didn’t understand why Jaskier had bothered, but he went out of his way to buy her a chemise, a corset and a dress. All the finest silks that Geralyn never had the money or interest to buy.

“Tell me again, bard…” She gasped when Jaskier tightened the lances around her hip a bit too much. It was so restraining; how did noble women walk around with such things? “Why am I accepting the job of being your babysitter?”

“Because, one, you are hopelessly in love with me as I am with you.” Geralyn rolled her eyes so strongly they almost fell out of her sockets. Jaskier needed to stop joking like that; even if humans said Witchers had no emotions, it was still… horrid, to play with things such as love. “Secondly, because there will be money and food and alcohol. _For free._ ”

Geralyn sighed. That was enough of a consolation for having to be like an attraction of sorts on a dance filled with nobles and people who knew nothing but the edges of their own asses.

Jaskier finished the lances of the corset, and fixed the chemise, giving Geralyn a very defined figure. The Witcher wasn’t exactly… defined. Her curves substituted by muscle. She was bigger than most women, stronger, faster… and much less attractive. Not that it mattered, after all, she was a mutant, meant to be an outcast from society, forever.

Jaskier went to his bags that laid on the bed, looking for something as he hummed a new song that Geralyn never heard before. He came back with a lipstick dancing on his fingertips. “No, I won’t use lipstick. Jaskier, I am no clown.” If the Witcher was capable of blushing, she would have had. Jaskier tilted his head, as he looked at her with a strange type of expression as if Geralyn was a treasure to be kept. As if she was… adorable. Which was upsetting and strange and endearing.

Funny, because Geralyn was stronger than any man, so she was sure she was no jewel nor was she ‘adorable’. She was big, strong, and a monster. That was all that she was meant to be. “I’ll wait to put on make-up on you last, then.” He then proceeded to help Geralyn into her dress – the one he had chosen.

It was black, and long, it accentuated Geralyn’s chest and hid her strong arms on the long sleeves. The neck was tall, and it helped hide her scars. Embroiled into the silk were some red flowers made of satin. The dress was buttoned by the back. Jaskier helped her button it up and made her spin when he was done.

Then, Jaskier made Geralyn sit in a chair in front of the mirror, and began to braid her long, long hair.

White as snow it was, and it managed to reach her waist. She had gotten lazy about it, postponing cutting it all. It seemed to please Jaskier, however, as he hummed the same song as before and kept brushing it and putting together the most complex hairstyle Geralyn has ever used. Feeling his fingers dance against her scalp made her shiver slightly, not many men had the audacity to touch a woman who was much stronger than they were, and the women who did, did it when she paid them to do it.

Jaskier, though, Jaskier touched her hair and… and all her as if it was natural. And he saw her, as the woman she never felt she was. He touched and danced around her and sang and hummed… and it all made Geralyn felt weird. And nice. Not that she would ever say so, because it was… it was something that she didn’t dare to approach just yet. That feeling. The hotness on her stomach as she saw on the reflection the lights of a candle flicked against Jaskier’s skin.

“Let me put some make-up on you, please…” Jaskier whispered against her ear, making her skin ticklish. “Not that you need it, but I want you to be so stunning that people can’t help it but look at you. Everyone will be envious because of how beautiful you are, and I am the one who has you.” He looked at her in the eyes through the reflection on the mirror, and his eyes were so blue… the way he said that he had her, it was so… so confident and strong that it almost felt as if she was pinned against a wall. Sometimes, Jaskier’s words rendered her defenseless.

She couldn’t do anything but nod, absent-mindedly. He gave a little bounce — that excitement unbecoming of a man, and yet, Geralyn found it so very… Jaskier. He helped her turn the chair around, and then, she felt his hands all over her face, with balms, and colors, and things that smelled like dirt and fish but covered with flowery scents. She closed her eyes, hating herself because how dare she trust a man so much… and yet, she did not open them and allowed her friend to work.

His fingers were rough — due to the strings of his lute — and warm, and when they were gone, she was surprised to find that she missed them. He looked at her, and it was as if she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, almost as if no one would be able to compete against her. It made her heart stop for a second, before it resumed beating, slightly faster than it was before. “I have one more thing.”

“Jaskier…” Her voice broke, and she coughed, trying to hide it. “… you are the one playing, why are you dressing _me_? I could go naked for all those nobles care.”

He cupped her face between his fingers. “Hush, I want them to see how beautiful you are. The White Wolf, Geralyn of Rivia, walking in and looking so stunning she might make men and women alike go blind because she is shining so brightly.” He whispered, his thumbs caressing Geralyn’s face. She leaned into the touch, her eyes closing.

One would think, growing as the only woman in Kaer Morhen must’ve mean that she was showered in praise constantly, but the truth was, Vesemir never allowed any of the boys close to her in a way that might’ve compromised her. She showered alone, and if a guy ever touched her in an indecent way, Vesemir would make sure he would receive punishment. It was funny, really, seeing the elder Witchers trying to protect her privacy and her decency, but in the end, as the years passed, it made her feel lonely. Vesemir was only trying to do what he considered best for her, after all, her case was especial — he simply didn’t know how to raise a girl properly. When she got her first blood, Vesemir spent an entire night reading so he could explain what happened to her.

Those memories made the edges of her mouth quirk up, weakly.

No Witcher would lay with her, even after they long departed from Kaer Morhen; no human man would lay with her either, because she simply was too… much. Or maybe, it was because she wasn’t enough.

She never felt beautiful, and perhaps she wasn’t meant to be beautiful, but Jaskier… Jaskier made her feel things. Made her believe she wasn’t… unattractive. “Now, close your eyes.” Jaskier rested his forehead against hers. She did as he requested, and then, she felt his warm slip away from her body. She missed him. He was right there, five feet away, looking for something in his bag, and yet, she missed him.

These feelings were dangerous.

She felt a weight in her neck, and she tensed. “Don’t, don’t worry.” Jaskier murmured in her ear, and his hands lanced around on the back of her neck. Then, when he was done, he covered her eyes. “Come on, stand, look at yourself.” He helped her turn around, and when he was pleased with her position, he took his hands off her eyes.

Geralyn stared at her reflection silently.

The dress was beautiful, the corset helped her accentuate her waist. Her hair was tied in many different braids; and it was combed in a bun, letting a few strands fall free. Her lips were red, and the scars of her face were completely covered. In her neck, a blue gemstone rested in a collar that was probably too expensive for her to ever even look at; it landed just above her Medallion. She didn’t know what to say, how to say it, so she simply covered the necklace with her hand, as softly as she could manage. She wasn’t made for trinkets, but she hummed, hoping it would sound like gratefulness.

The bard was behind her, still standing a head smaller than her. His arms wrapped around her waist — and she could hear his heart. It was beating so rapidly that maybe he was dying, or perhaps the one dying was her. “You always look so beautiful, but now… Now I might be enchanted.”

Geralyn rested her hands atop of Jaskier’s, not making any sound. She wasn’t good with words, she never was, but there was something there, a feeling she couldn’t quite find a description for, not yet.

She found herself staring at the reflection of the two of them in the mirror, forgetting for a minute about the feeling she couldn’t understand. She could imagine her hair black, her eyes like a normal human’s, and maybe even a child holding her hand, one that had Jaskier’s eye color and maybe loved music just as much as his father. It hurt to think of it, of what it could’ve been.

“Lady Patricia will absolutely hate you, especially because the designer sold me this dress and it was exactly the one, she wanted.” Geralyn rolled her eyes again and felt the need to push Jaskier off her back. He was great at enchanting her and breaking the enchantment himself. “Let me change, then we’ll go. You’re absolutely not riding Roach with that dress.”

It was too much effort to tell him that she was going to do as she pleased, and even then, the words died in the back of her throat when he kissed her cheek, softly. “Give me a minute.” He murmured into her ear. Geralyn stood in the room and held a hand to her cheek while she saw the bard changing as if he had done nothing at all.

* * *

Every voice in the dance room stopped when she arrived, escorted by Jaskier. She assumed it was because her bard friend cleaned himself good — good being a complete understatement but she wasn’t going to think about it much. He was handsome and charismatic – Geralyn would never tell him. He was already big headed. He didn’t need her encouragement for more.

“I wouldn’t had thought a Witcher would look this beautiful. Maybe we ought to keep them on a leash to exhibit them.” The voice of a woman spoke as they walked, she was speaking lowly, thinking, perhaps, that Geralyn couldn’t hear her. Jaskier stopped on his tracks. He turned, and let go of Geralyn for a second, walking towards the lady who had spoken out of place. He bowed, and planted a kiss on her hand, and she seemed bemused.

Geralyn was confused, until she heard what Jaskier said next, “My darling woman, if beauty was a standard to keep people on leashes, you would be free from any cage.” Geralyn was stunned and continued to be astonished even after Jaskier returned to her side and offered his arm, which she took almost instinctively.

He had insulted a lady in waiting, on behalf of a Witcher… on behalf of Geralyn. To some, a Witcher was worth less than a human. Perhaps even less than an animal. Her grip on his arm tightened, as he continued to escort her through the dance floor, feeling a tingling sensation settling on her chest. The lady Jaskier had insulted ran off, offended, and he simply continued to walk with his chin high, as if he was proud to be showing Geralyn off.

People were wary of her presence, but soon they were back in their own conversations. Jaskier had to leave her, for he was supposed to sing, and she simply stood by the edges of the room, seeing the bard from a distance. Singing he did, the tune he was humming while he helped her dress.

_The first time ever I saw your face_

_I thought the sun rose in your eyes_

_And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave_

_To the dark and the empty skies_

And he met her eyes, smiling, singing, his voice so soft and the lute in his arms seemingly weightless. He sang about kissing her, and she knew the song was about her, and the ground beneath her feet felt as if it would crumble at any moment, and yet, she continued to listen to him sing. When the song was done, Jaskier’s eyes lingered on hers a while longer, and then, he turned, to sing ‘Toss a Coin to your Witcher’ and other praises, all of them filled with devotion and Geralyn didn’t quite know what to do with herself. Other than drink, to try to calm her beating heart.

She tried to drown the feeling in her stomach with ale, but the more he sang and the more he danced, and each time his eyes met hers, she felt the incredible feeling in her chest intensifying. Gods, he looked so good while he smiled and laughed and performed… Geralyn felt as if she was choking, her heart beating as a normal human’s.

When he was done, he bowed so flamboyantly, she had the urge to roll her eyes — but her lips quirked up ever so slightly, and she had to cover her mouth with a mug that was way too big for a lady. He came rushing to her side, and smiled, pleading with his eyes to hear something good about his performance even though everyone around was cheering and extremely pleased with his songs. But ‘everyone’ wasn’t Geralyn; he wanted to hear her words of praise.

“It was…” she started; it was still hard to speak. They had known each other for years now, but it was still difficult to put words into what she felt. It probably was always going to be hard. “It was alright.” And Jaskier, somehow managed to look even happier, and her heart leaped to her throat. Then, another bard took Jaskier’s place — he was far less talented than her friend, but it was a substitute for the main event.

“Dance with me?”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth was agape with disbelief. “I don’t dance.” It was almost automatic, but Jaskier to her hands in his and started to take them to the middle of the dance floor. She could’ve stopped him, she should’ve stopped him, but… his eyes were so blue, and his cheeks were so rosy. She… did not want to stop him.

And so, they began to spin around, her hand flat against his. Jaskier was graceful, moving so gorgeously with a dexterity and skill only a bard could have. Geralyn was probably messy, her steps clumsy as she tried to follow Jaskier — he was patient, intertwining their fingers together and helping her keep up. His hair was messy, damp with sweat, but Geralyn felt as she had never seen a man so gorgeous in her entire life. When the piece was done, he took hold of her waist with his free hand and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. Geralyn was out of breath, not due to her dancing. It was almost absentmindedly that she reached to rest the hand that wasn’t holding his atop of Jaskier’s hair. She breathed him in, his essence, his everything. His essence was that of the sun in an early morning, and she hated how poetic that seemed to be, because she wasn’t a woman of metaphors. “I do actually love you, you know, right?” Jaskier murmured against her clothed shoulder.

She didn’t know what to reply, so she settled for humming, a soft sound, so unlike her rough voice. He kept whispering against her, “I saw you, so long ago, sitting and brooding and I thought that I had never seen a woman in my entire life as beautiful as you. And then, you had to be… so incredibly kind, and courageous, and just so… _you._ Awkward and rough around the edges? Yeah, but the Gods blessed me with the chance to see you better than you see yourself.” He took her face between his long, roughened fingers, letting go of her own roughened hand; and she let him tug her head until her forehead was resting against his, her cheeks cupped by his palms. “Lords, if you only knew how perfect you are.”

Her hands found his on her face, and she couldn’t bear to look at his eyes, so she closed hers. It was a soft touch, really, his lips against hers. It should’ve surprised her, but it didn’t. It was so chaste, and gentle, and Gods, the feeling she couldn’t put a finger into crashed into her as a ghoul. When they parted, her lips tingled, and it was then when she knew, when she opened her eyes and gold met with the ocean, she realized.

“ _Fuck_ , I love you.” And her hands went to cup his cheeks and hold him close to her, as if she was falling and Jaskier was the only thing keeping her grounded. Around them, people were still dancing and laughing and none of them were important, all sounds muffled away by the soft chuckle that left Jaskier’s mouth. “Took you long enough to realize, my dear Witcher.” And Geralyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or hit him in the gut.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer, oh valley of plenty?  
> Thank you for reading <3 English isn't my first language but I tried my best.  
> This idea wouldn't leave me alone and so I had to write it before I died. 
> 
> The song I used on this fic wasssss "The first time I ever saw your face".


End file.
